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A keyhole

But who holds the key?

Her heart thudded in her throat, pinching against those sharp prongs with every beat Anger flushed her skin, leaving behind a cold dread at the base of her spine She dug a finger under the tight band, strangling herself, driving the steel thorns deeper until—

—agony lanced through her body, setting fire to her bones

She collapsed to the bed, contorted with pain, back arched, chest too constricted to screaness

Relief flooded through her as she fell back, but the sensation was short-lived

She woke again, tasting blood where she had bitten her tongue A bleary-eyed check of the mantel clock revealed that only a moment had passed

She rolled back up, still tre her legs off the bed She kept her hands well away froet her bearings Standing slightly to the side to keep fro a shadow, she stared below at a plaza at the center of which stood abronze column with a statue of Napoleon atop it An arcade of identical elegant buildings surrounded the square, with archways on the ground floor and tall second-story s, separated by ornamental pillars and pilasters

I’m still in Paris

She stepped back In fact, she knew exactly where she was, having crossed that sa The plaza beloas the Place Vendôh-end jewelers and fashion boutiques The towering bronze Colonne Vendôme in the center was a Parisian land of twelve hundred Russian and Austrian cannons collected by Napoleon to commemorate some battle or other Across its surface cli scenes from various Napoleonic wars

She turned and studied the opulent rooold leaf

I must still be at the Ritz

She had co with a historian as connected to the Guild So up all her contacts She knew that such moments of upheaval, when locked doors were uards loosened, were the perfect time to snatch what she could So she had reached in deep, pushed hard, and risked exposing herself perhaps too much

One hand gently touched the collar—then lowered

Definitely too much

One of her trusted contacts had set up this rendezvous But apparently ht so way Bar downstairs, a wood-paneled and leather-appointed hoe to the American writer The historian had been seated at a side table, nursing a Bloody Mary, a drink that had originated at this establishment Next to his chair rested a black leather briefcase, holding the promise of secrets yet to be revealed

She had a drink

Only water

Still a mistake

Even now, her mouth remained cottony, her head equally so